


Toola Roola Roola

by sailorSenefi



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Drunk Boys In Love, Drunken Singing, Established Relationship, Fluff, Frottage, Limericks, M/M, Pointless Fluff and Sexytimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-18
Updated: 2012-03-18
Packaged: 2017-11-02 03:16:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/364371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailorSenefi/pseuds/sailorSenefi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Dave celebrate the Saint Patrick's Day in the best way possible: Being Drunk and being silly together while also making with the hot yaois.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Toola Roola Roola

“Oooooh...! When Irish eyes are smiling, blahdy blah da daaaah ba dum~!”

“Dude. Dude. You don't, you don't even, you don't even know the words,” Dave Strider informed one slightly off key John Egbert, leaning heavily against him, one arm slung around his shoulders. Of course, he wouldn't have to do that at all if John would just stop swaying like a jackass and making him dizzy.

“Doesn't matter what I'm singing, just as long as I keep the tune~” John assured him, keeping with the melody, swinging them around so he could shut the door to the little apartment that they shared, giggling as the world seemed to keep spinning around them, and Dave just clung harder.

“Ohh, God, John, we're in a , a fucking whirlpool, we're gonna get drawn in, man, we're gonna die, Imma gonna drown in all this air, I can't die like this, fuck that, I'm too pretty. My corpse has to be something beautiful, the stuff necrophilic wet dreams are made of, not some ugly, bloated floater. Who'll love me if I'm some water logged fatty, John? John, are you even listening to me?”

John wasn't. He heard something about water, and his mind flickered to another song, and he swayed Dave in time with the snazzy new beat in his head, holding onto Dave's hips, grinning widely as he did a surprisingly good impersonation of Bono. “I was a Sailor, I was lost at sea~ Was under the waves before love rescued me. He was pale as the lace of his wedding gown, but I left Dave standing before Loooove came to town~!”

“No, no, fuck that shit, Egbert, who even listens to U2 anymore, it's stupid and you're stupid.” Of course, it didn't really matter just how stupid either U2 or John was when Dave was blushing like a love struck schoolgirl.

“You love it when I sing~” he crooned softly, going up on his toes to press a soft kiss, a bit off center from Dave's forehead, his own drunkeness and the blonde's bangs making the simple move a lot more difficult then it ever had a right to be. Luckily, Dave didn't seem to care, at all. In fact, if the way Dave pushed down on his shoulders until John was at just the right height to mash their lips together meant anything at all, one might be tempted to say that he was pretty damn pleased with it.

Johns giggles slowed, lowered in pitch, but didn't stop, which made kissing a bit difficult, what with all his smiling, but Dave didn't mind. He'd had rather a lot of practice kissing around John's smile, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

“Hey, hey, John. I got a rhyme for you,” Dave mumbled against John's lips, taking pleasure at the way they brushed softly together, even more pleased to know even if John couldn't hear him, he could at least feel what he was saying.

“Jesus, Dave, really? Is now really the time for that?” John always heard Dave, with even his most inaudible of mumbles. What was an entirely different story was whether or not John wanted to pay attention. And of all the times he wanted to listen to Dave rap, during the start of hot, sexy make out time was pretty much at the bottom of the list.

“No, no, you'll like this. I promise. This is, like, the best time for it, ever.” To impart further how much he needed to share the sweet rhymes burning on the tip of his tongue, he pulled John over to the couch, path a little crooked but that wasn't important. What was important was that he actually got John to the couch, and was straddling his lap, to make sure he had a nicely captive audience. “Okay, check it, listen up.”

“Not like you gave me much choice,” John pointed out, but made a show of getting comfy, just to appease him.

“Shaddup,” Dave said, pouting as he slapped John's shoulder, a tiny bit harder then he actually meant to, rubbing there in apology when John winced a bit- more for show then anything else, because Dave might have one hell of a left hook, but he tended to slap like a five year old girl. Dave cleared his throat, putting on his serious, serious business face before getting down to what was at hand, which was him busting some sweet rhymes. “From Washington once was a lad, who lived with a boy cool and rad. He loved the lad lots, e'en after five shots, that adorkably fine lookin' lad.”

John blinked for a moment, taken aback, before laughing loudly, Dave bouncing slightly on his lap with the force of it. “Oh, oh my God, did you just...? You did! You did! You just drunk limericked me! You- You amazing dork, you!” He clapped his hands over Dave's cheeks, bringing him down for a wet, sloppy kiss. A wet, sloppy kiss turned into two, then five, and then Dave was rocking on top of him, and his hands were under Dave's shirt, tracing the lean muscles of his back, pushing his shirt up, exposing a strip of pale, pale stomach, undulating a bit with his movements.

Dave pulled back from a kiss, leaning down instead to lick and suck a wet line down John's throat, mouth moving and speaking in between. “Though bitches be on me in swarms, and I'm hot enough to set off alarms, I just can't dispute, you sure are a beaut, and I can't wait to get your Lucky Charms.”

John snorted lightly, not able to do so as well as he'd like, but he was a bit short on breath, fingers fumbling down and around to the front of Dave's pants, working on undoing them with uncoordinated fingers that weren't helped at all with the way Dave kept grinding down against him, smirking that small, knowing little grin of his. John couldn't see it, but he could feel it burning against his neck, branding him. Dave managed a particularly hard grind, and John hissed, arching up slightly into him. “Fuck, Dave, come on. Seduce me with bawdy rhymes later, cock out now.”

“Well,” he purred, stopping his hips and deftly unbuttoning John's won pants, which was quite unfair, if you asked John, “when you put it so nicely, how can I refuse?”

During normal circumstances, John would have rolled his eyes, but it wasn't exactly a normal circumstance, and he didn't have near enough concentration to be able to make the sarcastic movement and release Dave from the confines of his pants and boxers, and at the moment, getting a hand around Dave was a lot more important then being a smartass.

Somehow, even through the fumbling, John managed to get Dave's jeans unzipped and his cock through the slit of his boxers and stroking at the same time Dave got him free, squeezing and twisting in an easy, familiar pattern, something he'd done som many times he could probably do it in his sleep, let alone a slight drunken stupor.

They arched, moaned, twisting and writhing against each other, as pleasure built up, burning bright, knowing they weren't going to last long, and not really caring. Dave shifted closer, and suddenly John was wrapping long, long fingers around the both of them, holding their shafts together as Dave thrust into his tight grip, crying out quietly in a way that shook John to his core.

When John came, it was with Dave's name on his lips, and Dave followed quickly with his lips on John's.

“I love you,” John whispered when the ability to speak words returned to him again, leaning against the back of the couch, only grimacing a little when he looked down and saw the white globs of release on his shirt, sighing as he carefully pulled it off, balling it up to throw it in the general direction of no where fucking near them. “Even if you make a mess out of my clothes.”

Dave just grinned smugly, before cuddling up to John's bare chest, pressing a soft kiss against the base of his throat. “Mm, shut up and turn on SyFy. I wanna watch The Leprechaun marathon.”

John complied, but only after swatting the round curve of Dave's ass, pulling a surprised yelp out of him.

“The fuck?”

“That's for being more dexterous them me, even after five shots of straight tequila. And also for calling my junk Lucky Charms.”

“You liked it.”

“Don't press your luck.”

And so they spent the rest of Saint Patrick's Day wrapped up around each other, laughing at cheaply made horror flicks, until they both fell asleep, drunk and sated and happy.

**Author's Note:**

> This has all been very pointless, really, and I ended up abusing two perfectly good songs and then writing terrible poetry. What is wrong with me? My apologies for getting my terrible, dirty hands on this wonderful quasi-holiday. Please forget that you ever even read that horrendous attempt at Limericks.


End file.
